Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
CHRISTINE
The plain, unassuming bed in Fletcher’s guest room is heaven . I don’t think I’ve ever fallen asleep faster. The blissful, dreamless sleep, however, is short-lived.
The floorboards creak outside my door, and I startle awake. I blink, my vision blurry, and watch under the crack in the door as the shadows of footsteps pass and head downstairs.
Fletcher’s already up? What time is it?
I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand. God, it’s not even 4:30 AM yet.
Psychopath.
I tuck myself deeper into the blankets and promptly fall back asleep.
By the time I wake again, sunlight is streaming through the window, and something smells divine .
I stumble out of bed and toward the stairs like a woman possessed. After everything with Casey yesterday, I didn’t have much of an appetite. My stomach is now very loudly protesting that choice.
I round the corner, and Fletcher is standing in the kitchen with his back to me, switching between several pans on the stove. From the smell of it, there’s potatoes and eggs in there somewhere.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask.
He whips around, his smile immediate, and shakes his head. “Have a seat.”
He’s already dressed for the day. It’s nothing fancy—some shorts, a gray crewneck, and a baseball cap—but my ovaries are a little too enthused at the sight. I immediately regret not looking in the mirror before coming down here. I slide onto one of the barstools and tuck my hair behind my ears.
“How do you take your coffee?” he asks.
“Anything’s fine.”
He opens a cabinet and pulls two mugs down. “I don’t want fine . I want good . How do you like it?”
“As sugary and sweet as you can possibly make it.”
He smiles wide as he juggles pouring the coffee, procuring the extra ingredients for mine, and keeping everything he’s cooking on the stove in good shape.
“Are you sure I can’t help?”
“Don’t lift a finger.” As if it’s a well-practiced routine, he flips all the burners off, adds the creamer, and walks over to slide a cup in front of me. “I hope you’re hungry,” he says as I blow on the coffee a few times and take a sip.
“Starving,” I admit, then look up at him with wide eyes. “Caramel creamer?”
He smirks, shrugs, and takes a sip of his. “So I like it sweet too.” He braces his arms on the island across from me and leans forward. “You sleep okay?”
I bob my head. “That bed is insanely comfortable. Did I hear you get up at like four in the morning though?”
His smile falters, just for a second, but then he spurs back into action to put together a few plates by the stove. He shrugs with his back to me. “I’ve always been a morning person.”
By the time he sets a plate in front of me, it’s piled high with hash browns, an omelet, and berries. I shamelessly dive in and moan as I take the first bite.
He grins as he takes the seat beside me. “Good?”
“Delicious.”
His grin settles into a self-satisfied little smirk as I inhale my plate.
I feel him watching me and hold up a hand to cover my mouth as I chew. “What?”
His smile is soft, and he shakes his head. “I’m just really glad you’re here, Chris.”
I stop chewing, but before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door.
My eyes widen. “Are you expecting someone?” I whisper.
He frowns and shakes his head.
The person knocks again.
I jump up from my seat as if just now remembering where I am. What I’m wearing . I point down at his boxers, then to the stairs as if to say I need to go change.
He nods and waits until I’m halfway up the stairs before getting up.
I have one foot in the guest room when I hear him open the door and say, “Mom?”
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I yank yesterday’s clothes on, then tiptoe to the bathroom to check myself in the mirror. After dabbing a wet towel under my eyes to pick up some smeared makeup and running my hands through my hair a few times, it’s not that bad.
But when I’m done, I freeze. Am I supposed to go down there? I can’t hide up here forever. What if she’s planning on staying for a while? I can hear the low buzz of their voices but can’t make out what they’re saying.
She’s probably seen the two plates and coffees on the counter by now, so she knows someone else is here. At least Fletcher let me hide my car in his garage last night, so she didn’t see that.
But meeting his mother ? That’s about as far from let’s have a secret drink at my place as you can get.
Seeing no other choice, I steel myself with a breath and head downstairs. Fletcher’s eyes shoot to me the moment I round the corner. He’s at the head of the kitchen table, and a woman with a wide, floppy hat is sitting across from him with her back to me.
And there’s a mountain of a dog beside her.
Fletch shoots to his feet and heads toward me, mouthing I’m so sorry as soon as he’s out of his mom’s sight range.
She turns around and beams.
Despite not being blood related, I can see so much of Fletcher in that look. Her eyes light up, like she’s genuinely delighted to see me even though we’ve never met.
“Mom,” Fletcher says slowly. “This is Christine. Christine, this is my mother, Jodie.”
“So nice to meet you.” She jumps up, and I smile, expecting her to go for a handshake, but then she’s throwing her arms around me and pulling me into a tight hug.
“Oh. You too.” I laugh a little as she pulls away. Fletcher’s hand brushes my back as if to steady me, then yanks away like he thought better of it.
“And this must be Charlie,” I add.
The dog stares at me, his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
Jodie stands up a little straighter, her smile broadening as she looks between me and her son. There’s a glint in her eyes that makes me shift my weight uncomfortably. “So you’ve talked about him.”
“I may have mentioned my mother lost her mind and mistook a horse for a dog,” Fletcher mutters.
“I’m sorry to just show up,” she says. “I saw that the weather was supposed to be not quite so hot and thought we could make some good progress in the backyard.” Out of the corner of her mouth, she adds, “It’s not like you usually have company. How was I supposed to know?”
“I was on my way out anyway,” I say.
Fletcher turns to me, the light in his eyes dimming. Does he want me to stay? I figured me excusing myself would be the cleanest, easiest way out of this situation.
“Oh, nonsense!” says his mom. “I see you haven’t even had a chance to finish your coffee yet. And besides, I could use another opinion. Come, come.” She heads for the back door and waves for me to join her. “I need you to tell my son he’s wrong. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
Fletcher sighs. “Mom, don’t rope her into this. She has?—”
“Hush. No one asked you. I’m talking with Christine. Don’t follow us. I want her unbiased opinion.”
I pinch my lips together to hold in my laugh, especially when I see the exasperation bleeding into Fletcher’s expression.
Seeing as I apparently have no choice in the matter, I slip my coffee from the counter and start to follow, but Charlie cuts in front, ambling along like his legs can barely hold his weight.
She stops in the center of the yard and gives Charlie’s head a single pat as he plops down at her feet.
“So, um, what did you need another opinion on?” I ask as I step up beside her.
She waves a hand. “Oh, nothing. But stand here with me for a bit and pretend like we’re talking about it, will you? Let him sweat in there.”
I bark out a laugh, and she grins at me. I have a feeling she gets her way whether she has the majority vote or not.
“It really is looking amazing back here though,” I add. “Which I hear is your doing.”
“Thank you. That’s kind of you to say. If left to his own devices, this would be a boring, empty plot of grass. He’s got an eye for the interior stuff, I’ll give him that, but here .” She spreads her hands wide as if presenting art. “This is where the magic can happen.”
I sip my coffee and pretend to not notice the way she’s sizing me up now.
“How’s he doing?” she asks suddenly.
I blink. “Fletcher? I—I mean, well, I think?”
The corners of her lips turn down. “Has he been sleeping?”
Sleeping? My mind jumps to this morning. With how late we went to bed, he couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours of sleep. And come to think of it, the only other night we spent together—at the hotel—he slipped out at an ungodly hour then too. But I’d chocked it up to his work schedule.
At my silence, she sighs. “I know he doesn’t like me digging into his business. I just worry…if the nightmares are back…prolonged sleep deprivation like that is no joke. Just, if you care about him, look out for him, would you?”
Not knowing how else to respond, I nod.
Nightmares?
I don’t know why she thinks we’re close enough that he would’ve opened up to me about something like that, and I don’t know why my stomach dips at the realization that he hasn’t.
I poured my guts out to him last night—hell, even that first night together, he got more information out of me than anyone has in years, maybe ever.
At the time, I’d thought he’d done the same.
I glance at the windows over my shoulder even though the sun reflecting off them prevents me from seeing him on the other side.
Apparently there’s still a lot about him that I don’t know.